“We are — all of us – falling. We are all, now, this moment, in the midst of that descent, fallen from heights that may now seem only a dimly remembered dream, falling toward a depth we can only imagine, glimpsed beneath the water’s surface shimmer. . . . . The fall from youthful ideals, the waning of physical strength, the failure of a cherished hope, the loss of our near and dear, the fall into injury or sickness, and late or soon, the fall to our certain ends. We have no choice but to fall, and little say as to the time or the means. . . . . And let us pray that if we are falling from grace, dear God let us also fall with grace, to grace. If we are falling toward pain and weakness, let us also fall toward sweetness and strength. If we are falling toward death, let us also fall towards life.”
“Perhaps, however, we do have some say in the manner of our falling.”
— Phillip Simmons from Learning To Fall
When I first read the words above, it was 2007, Philip Simmons had just died, of ALS, and I was so touched by the nature of his passing. I didn’t recognize, until years later, that his words about falling, so aptly described the rigors associated with aging. We are, all learning to fall. Not because we want to, but because Life has seen fit to force us into this learning. Falling, it turns out, is the only way to grasp what it means to be fully human. This Slow Lane is about that.
Many people, perhaps most of us, think falling is some kind of tragedy. We guard against it, not wanting to die before our time, or to be disabled, disfigured, or diseased, before we have sucked the nectar out of life. Perhaps, it is shocking, now to experience me writing, that falling reveals so much more about who we are. Falling, growing long in the tooth, unstable, barely able to remember who you are, and functioning in an iffy manner, all have the effect of sensitizing us, disclosing our true nature. You aren’t really mature until life has worked you over enough to knock the arrogant cultural stuffing out of you.
Initiation by being knocked down — it isn’t pretty, but it is effective. Falling is an appalling gift. It brings home how precious this life is. Now, I’m not just talking about the misfortunate ones, like myself, no we haven’t been particularly gifted by this form of loss. This is an equal opportunity loss. It comes to everyone. No matter how you carry on, you are going to fall. Not because of gravity, tripping, or bad luck, but because being human means so much.
What is it that we are descending into? Believe it, or not, there is a way uncertainty, and not knowing — soften us up, and prepare us. Life is simultaneously reducing us, and enlarging us. The diminishment that accompanies falling is paradoxically providing the necessary hardship that coaxes out of us a form of awareness that embellishes our humanity. Falling is strangely a form of growing. Our culture hasn’t yet caught wind of this characteristic. It is so busy trying to be productive, in the capitalist sense, that it cannot see that old age — that falling — insures the growth of a way to be more organically productive.
Falling, to those who have swallowed the kool-aid, is just decline. Falling is a lot more than that. But, what it is, cannot be revealed without the pull of Life. There is a kind of existential gravity which is slowly pulling us all into shape. Falling is a calling card — of an essential gravity at work. Losing your balance — and really falling — is the way to find more balance.
